


Nothing More, Nothing Less

by mollydewinter



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Frenemies, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sort Of, ch. 956, here to push the dilfs in love agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollydewinter/pseuds/mollydewinter
Summary: "My only regret about losing my arm is not being able to fuck you against the wall anymore."On his first day of being a pirate again, Mihawk runs into an old friend 'unexpectedly'.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Nothing More, Nothing Less

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Can't believe I'm writing one piece after so many years :D I love akataka to bits and i don't understand why it doesn't have more content. This is where I come in hehe This one was an excuse to write these two having sex, though I did include some plot it in dw I'm not completely shameless. This takes place after the abolishment of the Shichibukai which was the hottest moment in all of One Piece after Doflamingo turning out to be Celestial Dragon. Basically, Mihawk heads out and lands on the same island as Shanks, which is completely unplanned btw ;) I hope you like it and if you do, lmk! Enjoy :D

**Nothing More, Nothing Less**

How long has it been? As he paces around the cabin, idly observing the various knickknacks, he wonders when he had last been on a ship. A proper one, not his trusted vessel or a Marine gunship. A pirate’s ship. There was something particular about all pirate ships, despite the differences between the millions of captains and crews around the Grand Line. Was it the smell? The gentle rocking against the waves? The collective snoring of a dozen sleeping men? It was nostalgic, in a way he’d never admit. That cabin, in particular, felt the most nostalgic of all. Again, though he’d never say it, stepping in it felt a lot like coming home, wherever that was, anyway.

The ship is silent, the tranquility of the captain’s cabin is broken only by the ruckus coming from outside. The past couple of days felt an awful lot like the aftermath of Roger’s execution. Once the abolishment of the Warlords was announced, countless fools poured out to the streets, drinking and dreaming of taking the ‘government dogs’ down. Killing a former Warlord became the new ‘One Piece’ in a matter of hours. He heard his own name a lot, usually barked out of a rum-stinking mouth. Great, another wave of nobodies coming to disturb his sleep. As if the Marines chasing him wasn’t enough. He hoped that “The Slaughter of Kuraigana Island”, as the newspapers had named it, would dishearten the most zealous ones.

Mihawk keeps walking around the room, keeping himself busy by observing Shanks’ various belongings. He knows this room like the back of his hand and he can navigate it with ease, even with his eyes closed. Empty bottles of rum, yellowed photographs of a little red-haired boy wearing a hat too big for his head, notes in barely legible chicken-scratch, the obvious attempts of a man just learning to write. He lingers, as he often does around Shanks, studying each item with rare fondness, the kind he only reserves for this cabin. He only stays for a few seconds before moving on to the next one. And so on, and so forth.

Why is he there? He doesn’t dare ask himself that question, knowing full-well that the answer will be annoying. Or worse, insulting. Mihawk isn’t a man to keep memories, to seek out stability. Stability, what a joke. Never thought he’d associate that word with Shanks. If not stability, then what?

In his defense, he never actively sought out the other man. Fate had funny ways of bringing them together, more usually in the form of the vivre cards they had sewn into their clothes. He had ignored the wobbling of the Log Pose and instead followed the miniscule but decisive movements of that tiny piece of paper in his open palm. It pointed to the dark sea ahead and so he went, all the while telling himself that Shanks was unrelated to this.

He landed on the island, annoyed but not surprised to see his wanted poster already displayed on every wall available. He walked along, a pirate among pirates, looking for a quiet tavern to rest at before taking off once more. The crowds split in half before him. Gone were the proclamations of stealing his throne. No one dared stand in his way and so he went, avoiding the sounds of a full-blown party coming from the Red Force.

At last, he found a place quiet enough for his tastes. The owner was nice enough, a mostly blind old man that greeted him with a toothless grin and the blissful ignorance of not knowing who he was. The place was mostly empty but Mihawk still chose the farthermost table, taking off his hat and sword to enjoy his meal and wine as comfortably as he possibly could. 

He was a sensible man, who prided himself in his ability to put reason above all else. Nothing could surprise him anymore. He knew the world around him so well, that he felt like he was provoking fate by coming here, poking the hornet’s nest. Because, really, was he expecting to spend the night alone?

Only a few minutes after he had stepped inside the tavern, Shanks came bursting in, face as red as his hair. He scanned the mostly dark area for Mihawk and the swordsman actually had the audacity to be annoyed by the redhead’s sudden appearance. Shanks sauntered over to him, stumbling over a chair and making Mihawk roll his eyes. Behold, an Emperor. Mihawk knew better than to underestimate his former rival but he couldn’t help but indulge himself in those secret little insults. Power had the strangest ways of disguising itself.

Shanks grabbed a chair from the nearest table and dragged it to Mihawk’s table, producing a hellish sound. He sat down, once again being too close. He was breathing slowly, shallowly, still smiling with youthful excitement. It’s contagious, but Mihawk managed.

“Hawkeyes.”

“Red.”

Shanks’ grin broadened. He uncorked the bottle he was carrying with his teeth and took a big swig, offering some to Mihawk. He shook his head.

“Heard you were here,” Shanks started. “The whole town’s talking about you.”

“Apologies. I never meant to upstage you.”

Shanks laughed, the sound boomed around the silent tavern. He scooted closer. Mihawk could smell the rum in his hot breath as it burned his top lip. His cheeks were bright red and warm as if just kissed by the sun. His eyes were gleaming, shining with that all-too-familiar joy. Mihawk liked to believe he only reserved that child-like excitement for him, because he certainly did.

Shanks rummaged in his cape and fished out a crumbled wanted poster. “Haven’t seen this one in a while,” he murmured. “Or the real-life one.”

“What do you want, Red?”

Shanks pouted. The entire scene felt like a clip from a movie, repeating itself in perpetuity. All their meetings went like this. Shanks showed up, drunk, Mihawk acted like the busiest man in the world, and in the end, the outcome was the same as every time. It was boring, Mihawk often said and for a man like him, who despised boredom more than anything in the world, there was no logical explanation behind this repetitive game of theirs.

So why was he still sitting, not moving as Shanks got closer, feeling the blood travel south as the familiar scent of the redhead’s heavy breath entered his veins?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Shanks phrased the question as if Mihawk was stupid for asking it. Alcohol made him bolder than usual and he was pushing his luck. Made two of them, then. “You’re here, I’m here, there’s only one way this can end, sweetheart.”

The nickname made Mihawk twitch. It’s an ugly feeling, the way that breathy voice made his gut stir. He turned his head, fully facing Shanks. Their lips were just a hair away but neither closed the gap. 

“Don’t refuse,” Shanks insisted. “We have to celebrate this.”

Mihawk quirked a brow. “Celebrate what exactly?”

“You becoming a pirate again!” Shanks exclaimed, louder than Mihawk had anticipated.

Mihawk scoffed. “What was I before, then?”

“A dog.”

“A dog?”

“Mhmm.” Shanks took another swig. Some of the liquid trickled down the side of his mouth, rolling all the way down his neck. “A dog.”

“You shouldn’t be calling me a dog when I’m sitting so close to you.” To emphasize his words, Mihawk closed the gap between himself and Shanks, going for the other man’s ear. He bit it, hearing Shanks hiss softly. He didn’t break the contact, rather moved down to Shanks’ neck, licking off the stray drops of rum. It was unlike him to be so bold out in public - or anywhere, to be honest - but he needed Shanks to shut up, somehow.

“I can bite.”

When he pulled away, he found the excitement in Shanks’ eyes to have turned into something darker, heavier. He sat back and waited, eyes locked with Shanks’. Once again, the redhead was right. There was only one way this night could end.

Still, he felt like he could have the upper hand.

Shanks was absolutely enthralled at this point, both from the alcohol and the burning blaze of his favorite pair of golden eyes. He reached forward, trailing an imaginary line from the end of Mihawk’s brow to his bottom lip, fuller and softer than anyone could have ever guessed.

“Come with me back to the ship,” he murmured.

Mihawk pushed the hand away softly, to tease rather than completely discourage. “You’re too drunk.”

“You’ve seen me worse. You’ve had me worse.”

“You’re too drunk for me to handle at the moment, Red.”

“What about when I sober up?”

“That’s going to take too long. I’m a pirate now. I can’t stay in one place for days.”

“Why not? We’ve been here the whole week.”

“I don’t have a whole crew at my disposal, Red.”

“You’re more capable than the whole pack of them.”

Mihawk said nothing at the compliment. A fact more than a compliment, really. He knows there’s no match for him out there in their vast yet tiny world. The only rival he’d ever known sat inches away from him, drunk with desire.

A few more minutes of silence passed. The ruckus from outside grew closer and Mihawk made out the unmistakable sound of the Red-Haired Pirates’ voices. Shanks turned his head to it, looking out the window to yell something at Benn. Shanks stood up and straightened himself as best as he could. He drained the last few drops of rum and chucked the empty bottle out the window.

“You know where to find me,” he rasped before departing. His legs were shakier than before. He barely made it out while still standing.

Mihawk sighed. For the time being, he finished his meal and drink, paid, and left. He was out to the bustling streets once more, wondering where his feet would take him, as if he didn't already know.

Back in Shanks’ cabin, Mihawk freezes in place when he hears the crew coming back. They’re all drunk and howling songs into the velvet night. Shanks’ voice stands out amongst the chorus and Mihawk would be a liar if he denied the little twitch it brought to his lips. He can hear their footsteps like thunder over his head. Most of them collapsed on the spot, too out of it to even take a step further.

“You should go to sleep,” he hears Benn say. Shanks slurs something back. Most of the words get drowned out in his booming laughter.

Mihawk stands still, hearing sloppy footsteps head towards his way. The door creaks open and Shanks stumbles inside, still giggling about the night’s shenanigans. He freezes upon realizing that the person in the middle of his room is not in fact a mirage. The grin on his lips blooms slowly, shining with satisfaction.

“Knew it,” he snickers and kicks the door shut. “I knew you’d come.”

He’s so arrogant it annoys Mihawk. But worst of all, he’s right. Of course, Mihawk would come. Shanks tosses him a bottle of wine, half-decent and still unopened. Must have brought it for the occasion. Mihawk catches it and opens it, taking a big and sloppy swig.

“Your defenses are nonexistent,” Mihawk grumbles. The wine burns his throat. It makes his lips sticky. “I walked past those fools you left to guard this ship with ease. What if I was an enemy?”

“You’re not.” Shanks shrugs his cape off and leaves his saber against the wall. He walks past Mihawk and goes to sit on the floor, back against the side of his bed. Though he makes no move, it’s obvious he wants Mihawk to join him. “And besides… what’s the point?”

“What do you mean?”

Shanks shrugs. “My guards are shit and we’re all drunk. If you wanted to kill us all, you would have done so already. Make an Emperor of yourself on your first day back to being a pirate.” He leans back, smiling. His face catches the pale moonlight. Mihawk can see every scar and wrinkle, even a few stray gray hairs in his stubble. “I’m no challenge for you anymore, Hawkeyes.”

Mihawk hums softly. He paces towards Shanks, slowly. Shanks is watching him intently, lips opened just a little, letting quiet, huffy breaths out.

Is there any point in denying it? No one will ever get to where Shanks was - is - not even Roronoa and his passion could ever replicate the feeling of the duels they used to have. The slashes, the kicks, the impromptu fistfights when the swords were out of reach. That unparalleled high was gone forever and Mihawk couldn’t help the bitterness that bubbled in his stomach. His gaze flicked over to Shanks’ stump of a left arm.

“Do you miss it?” Shanks doesn’t respond immediately. He was too busy staring at Mihawk’s face. “The thing we used to have.”

“I like what we have now.”

Finally, Mihawk walks over and joins his side. Shanks is warm and he smells like booze and sweat and somehow, this makes it all better. He passes him the bottle and when Shanks returns it, it tastes like him more than anything. 

“But yes,” Shanks admits. “I do miss our fights. These kids are flashy but they’re not a real challenge. Eustass Kid. Loud, angry, a good captain but nowhere near as great as he thinks.”

“What about Strawhat?”

Shanks chuckles. “What about Roronoa?”

Like him, Mihawk doesn’t reply. The kids are good, but it’s not the same. 

Strangely enough, he finds himself ready to speak again. Only Shanks can bring out this side of him but it has to happen under certain circumstances. For example, they both have to be sitting on the floor, sharing a bottle, talking nonsense before fucking.

“If you could simply wish for it and have your arm back, would you do it?”

Mihawk twitched at the sound of his own voice. Maybe the wine was getting to him, that question sounded way better in his head. Oddly enough, he saw that Shanks had paused to consider it.

“Honest?”

“Yes.”

“My only regret about losing my arm is not being able to fuck you against the wall anymore.”

Mihawk snorts, shooting wine out of his nose. He starts laughing, the clear sound filling the entire room. Shanks joins him. Seeing Mihawk laugh - making him laugh - fills him with pride that borders on arrogance. This side of the World’s Greatest Swordsman is his by right, he worked for it and he gets to savor it to his heart’s content. 

“So, what will you do?” Shanks inquires, returning to a previous topic of conversation. “Will you keep sailing the seas, looking for someone like me?”

Mihawk quirks a brow. Shanks is definitely drunk. He can say so not from the drawl and slur that follows his words but from what he’s saying. 

“Or have you already found him, perhaps?”

Ah. “You’re drunk,” Mihawk points out, mostly to remind himself. “And you’re… jealous.”

Shanks grumbles something and brings the bottle to his lips. A small hiccup makes him jump and spill red wine over his shirt, the last clean one judging by his reaction.

“Have you ever thought of settling down?” Mihawk doesn’t linger on the peculiarity of this question. He knows what it means, what Shanks really wants to say. It really is the alcohol speaking, making him possessive like that, even though he knows the man he’s trying to possess is slipping through his fingers like fine sand. “Coming with me?”

Mihawk laughs again, quieter this time. The redhead has no idea what he’s talking about. “Go get some coffee, Red. We can talk in the morning if your liver makes it.”

He pats Shanks on the thigh and moves to stand up. Blessed be his inhumane alcohol tolerance, his step is still steady after a bottle and a half of wine. He begins to walk away, slower than usual, when Shanks reaches up and pulls him down hard. He could have easily avoided that sloppy, pathetic excuse of a surprise attack but he lets Shanks get away with it. He’s straddling him, hands on either side of Shanks’ head to support himself. 

Another game of theirs; each time, Shanks has to persuade Mihawk to sleep with him, drag him, flirt with him, frustrate him so much that the only way to shut his mouth is with a kiss. And Mihawk plays along every single time, saying that he’s busy, tired, so over it. It’s a ridiculous back-and-forth, best fit for kids half their ages, yet they both cling to it. Perhaps it’s all that remains of their once glorious battles. 

“Shithead,” Shanks grumbles as he kisses Mihawk for the first time that night. It’s a soft press of his lips against Mihawk’s unresponsive scowl. “You know you want to stay.”

Yes. God, yes. Only when they sat this close did Mihawk realize how much he’d missed this. It had been months since he’d last felt that familiar warmth below him, the sweet scratching of Shanks’ itchy stubble on his neck. Shanks reaches into his hair and pulls him back, forcing him to arch his neck, giving him more access to pale flesh he can kiss, bite and mark. Instinct guides him. At this point, he has memorized Mihawk’s body to perfection, knowing where and what to do to make the other man crazy with arousal. That spot below his ear, right where his pulse is, that’s where Shanks goes first, trailing a line of kisses and bites all the way to his collarbones, worshipping every bit of creamy skin he found.

“Hawkeyes,” he groans, face buried in the crook of his lover’s neck, breathing in his scent. He has to strain his ears to catch any reaction from Mihawk. It’s usually a soft gasp, a hiss, an insult. Every time, Shanks sees is at as a challenge to fuck the noise out of him.

Mihawk digs his hands into the bedframe, keeping the both of them steady. He leans into Shanks’ attack of kisses. They lock lips, starving and lazy, taking the time to savor one another. Mihawk bites the redhead’s bottom lip and he hisses but stays in place. Their kiss grows hungrier, desperate and they get their hands into it, tugging on each other’s clothes with great urgency. Mihawk begins to move, gyrating his hips on top of Shanks’ own, feeling their clothed erections rub against each other. Shanks tips his head back, already gasping softly. His hand travels to Mihawk’s waist, as if to guide his movements. 

“Look at me, Red,” he growls.

Shanks lifts his head, meeting his lover in the eye. He wants to say something witty but the view knocks the air out of his lungs. Mihawk is pretty, too pretty. Was that the World Government’s plan? Get the most beautiful people in the world on their payroll? Seduce the other pirates into submission? So far, it was working for him. 

He wants to grab Mihawk by the hips and plant him on his cock but he’s completely at the other man’s mercy. Mihawk wants to draw things out, taking it slow and sweet. It’s a change from last time, when they had almost broken Mihawk’s bed. Shanks finds himself liking this pace more and more as he grows older. He likes to see his gorgeous lover’s every expression, hear the changes in his voice, and on nights when the stars have aligned and the fates are smiling down at him, making him beg for it, too.

Mihawk’s hands work faster than a single drunk one. He undoes Shanks’ sash and pants, not surprised to see his erection spring free, without another layer of fabric over it. He looks at Shanks with a bemused little smirk and sighs.

“Easier access,” Shanks grins.

Mihawk does the same for himself and in a matter of seconds, their cocks are rubbing against each other, hard and twitching. He licks a long strip on his open palm, watching as Shanks hisses in a breath. Before the redhead can utter a single word, Mihawk has his hand wrapped around both of them, stroking at a languid, torturous pace.

“Fuck,” Shanks moans. The friction is absolutely delicious and it only makes his blood boil harder, hotter.

The feverish flush he has grown to associate with arousal is creeping up Mihawk’s marked neck, coloring the tips of his ears. He’s letting quiet breaths out, the same, barely audible pants as always. It’s not enough. Tonight, when none of Shanks’ senses are working properly, he needs to hear his lover loud and clear. 

His lips seek out the pale expanse of MIhawk’s neck once more. The black-haired man comes closer, rubbing his cock harder against Shanks’ one. Shanks reaches behind, grabbing a fistful of his lover’s ass. His hand slips into Mihawk’s pants, squeezing and parting the flesh. 

“Impatient, aren’t you,” Mihawk breathes into his ear. His voice is heavy and dark, like a needy purr. 

“You have no idea how much I want to fuck you,” he moans into his lover’s skin, ending the sentence with a bite. “How much I need you…”

Mihawk inhales sharply. He pulls away, finding Shanks’ gaze. He takes his lover’s hand and guides into his mouth, to bite and suck on the calloused fingers all the while their eyes remain locked. 

“Say it again,” Mihawk orders as he bites down on two of Shanks’ fingers. 

“I need you, Hawkeyes,” he rasps. Something dark flashes in the brilliant gold of Mihawk’s eyes. 

Mihawk moves away only to retrieve something from Shanks’ bedside table. He knows where everything in this cabin is and finding the bottle of lube isn’t particularly hard. He’s back before Shanks can whine at his absence, already coating the man’s hand in the slick substance. Shanks snakes his arm Mhawk’s back, sliding his fingers in the crevice of his ass. Mihawk gasps at the cool sensation and Shanks drinks the sound straight from his lips. He pushes two fingers inside, feeling Mihawk tense and squeeze around him. It has been a while but the body never forgets. After almost twenty years of sharing a bed, they know how to respond to each other, as if using some sort of Haki created only for the two of them. Shanks pushes his fingers further in and Mihawk keeps rocking his hips, still rubbing their members together. He buries his face into the crook of Shanks’ neck but the redhead is having none of it. Mihawk is a wanted man now, who knows when this will happen again? He needs it all, he wants to see everything, to savor every last bit.

“Look at me,” he snarls. His voice is guttural and dripping with need. “I want you to look at me when I’m doing this to you.”

Mihawk moves up, pressing his sweaty forehead against Shanks’ own. A small noise escapes his mouth as Shanks hits his sweet spot just right. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, forcing himself to be quiet.

“Let me hear you,” Shanks coos. “You sound so beautiful when you’re full of me, sweetheart.” He adds a third finger, fucking his lover open, moving his wrist at a pace he knows can make Mihawk’s mouth water. The fingers are moving furiously inside him, pressing his sweet spot with irritating precision and persistence. Shanks massages his prostate in circular motions, making him hotter with every second. His body responds to it perfectly, practically sucking Shanks’ fingers in. He doesn’t speak, but he lets Shanks know that his desire matches his own.

“Shanks,” he moans and Shanks swallows that sound, tasting its sweetness in his tongue. Their mouths are inches away, sharing the same breath but not touching. He struggles with his words, trying to find his focus as Shanks is still scissoring his fingers within him. “Bed.”

Shanks nods eagerly. His fingers make a wet, filthy sound as they leave Mihawk. He stands up only for a second before sloppily falling back on his bed. Mihawk helps him with the clothes, shedding layer after layer until they’re completely naked, skin on skin, sweat on sweat. The little differences between them obsess him, he adores the way Mihawk’s pale skin stands out against his tanned complexion. He reaches up, caressing the soft, jet-black hair. Mihawk feels like velvet but looks like steel. Only Shanks will ever know.

He finds support on Shanks’ shoulders, holding onto him as he lowers his hips, slowly impaling himself on his lover’s lubed-up cock. Shanks groans deeply, leaning further into the pillows. Even after countless times, the feeling stays the same. Shanks starts talking, nonsense mostly, syrupy, filthy things in Mihawk’s ear, praising him for how perfect he is, how well he takes him inside. Save for a few ragged breaths and mumbled curses, Mihawk stays completely silent. 

“You’re perfect,” Shanks breathes, standing too close to the edge of delirium. He feels sober at this point, perfectly aware of everything that’s happening. The world has shrunk to the man sitting on top of him, as is usually the case when the two of them are together. He takes it all in, his dark lashes that flutter like a butterfly’s wings, the little crease between his brows, the sheen of sweat that shines underneath his mustache.

“Please shut up.”

Mhawk is focused and Shanks would be lying if said it wasn’t adorable. His hand reaches up for his lover’s face, soothing him with a gentle voice while playing with his bottom lip. Mihawk begins to move, pulling himself up by Shanks’ shoulders. Shanks thrusts his hips up, meeting him halfway. They start like this, lazily fucking on the bed, making the headboard slam back against the wall each time they moved. The floorboards under them creak and the window is still open. Mihawk prays that Shanks' crewmates are too intoxicated to hear them.

“Fuck,” Mihawk mumbles under his breath when a particularly hard thrust finds his sweet spot. His tongue darts out of his mouth to collect the beads of sweat hanging off the edge of his mustache. His back forms a beautiful arch as he rolls his hips, taking Shanks deeper inside of him.

“You’re beautiful,” Shanks can’t help but moan, absolutely lost in the sight before his eyes. He places his hand on Mihawk’s hip, holding him tight enough to bruise. Mihawk’s hand travels over it, squeezing softly. 

He starts moving faster, growing more desperate as pleasure coils in the pits of his stomach. The headboard is slamming to the wall behind in tempo with their fervent fucking. He cocks his head to the side, looking down at Shanks with half-lidded eyes. 

“Touch me,” he moans. “Touch me, Shanks.”

Shanks obliges, taking his hand from Mihawks’ hip to his neglected cock. It’s twitching and leaking even before he touches it, dribbling down his hand. He starts pumping Mihawk, trying as best as he can to match the rhythm of his hips. He circles the tip with his thumb, spreading the precum all over the shaft.

“Yes,” Mihawk keens, closing his eyes as the sensation becomes more intense. He leans back down again, curling up into Shanks’ neck. “God, yes.

“I want to see you, Mihawk,” Shanks almost pleads. “Don’t hide from me.”

To think someone so terrifying and powerful would have insecurities is simply absurd. True, Mihawk has none of those, he shed them so many years ago. Yet there’s this thing he always does, one that confuses Shanks immensely. Right as he’s about to climax, he looks away or closes his eyes, as if ashamed of his expression. But Shanks is having none of it. 

He removes his hand from Mihawk’s cock and uses it as leverage to roll them over. Mihawk lets out a noise of surprise as he’s suddenly laying on his back, Shanks smirking down at him.

“What-”

“I want to see your face as you’re cumming, angel,” he drawls. “I think I deserve this much.”

A sharp comment gets lost as Mihawk gasps, fists curled around the sheets. The position is more difficult for Shanks, especially while he’s not entirely sober, but it’s more enjoyable. The sight of Mihawk laying under him, flushed and panting, with his thighs spread is worth all the booze in the world. He shoves himself in to the hilt, pistoning his hips at a bruising, almost desperate pace. Mihawk can take it, he longs for it, actually. He arches his spine and mumbles something as Shanks finds his sweet spot again and again, still holding onto him like a vice. His legs are wrapped tightly around the redhead’s waist, pulling him close, not letting even an inch of him get out. 

Mihawk is glorious when he climaxes, all huffy breaths and heavy eyes. He’s not going to be happy about the semen splattered over his abdomen but for the moment, he’s too out of it to care. 

Shanks follows only moments later, whispering out his lover’s name as he releases inside of him. Mihawk is probably not going to be too happy about that, either. Shanks pushes the endless death-glaring he will surely receive aside and instead basks at the moment. Oh, if only he was twenty years younger! He’d be able to be hard again in a matter of damn seconds, then back at it again with his lover until the morning sun found them asleep in one another’s arms. Reluctantly, he pulls out, seeing, to his delight, that Mihawk hisses softly at the lost contact. They lay beside each other, sharing a look and the comfortable silence. Shanks throws his arm over Mihawk’s waist, caressing the soft skin and chiseled muscle as Mihawk idly plays with his hair.

“What will you do?”

Mihawk sighs. “Sleep.” He’s only just now realized how impossibly exhausted he is. He’d been traveling all day while having to deal with whatever idiot presented himself as a ‘challenge’. And now this. His body is sore in the most delightful way, warm, still bearing the memory of his lover’s touch.

Shanks pouts. “I’m serious.”

“I don’t know, Red. I don’t have a plan.”

“That’s unlike you.” Mihawk cracks an eye open. “Thought you’d already figured out where to find the next gothic nightmare island.”

“Believe me, they are hard to go by.” Shanks chuckles. “I have to keep moving. No special treatment anymore.”

“Not that you need it.”

“Please.” Mihawk pulls himself up, wincing at the soreness on his behind. He runs a hand through his hair and looks out the window. The town’s gone quiet, save for the occasional stray dog or drunk idiot passing by outside. Sounds like the ideal setting for him to make his low-key exit.

“The Marines aren’t a threat, just an annoyance. I was hoping I’d see Issho, though. Instead, Akainu keeps sending kids straight out of the academy to capture me. Same with the others, I hear. It’s like he wants to exterminate them on purpose.”

“You handle them pretty well.”

Mihawk clicks his tongue. “It’s still annoying. As if pathetic challengers weren’t enough already… No reason for the Marines to ignore me. I’m not an Emperor. Or a Warlord.”

“How does it feel?”

“Honestly?” Shanks nods. “Liberating. The whole system was a fiasco from the start. I don’t understand what exactly the World Government was expecting, giving a bunch of criminals amnesty.”

Shanks gasps and chuckles, scandalized. Mihawk would really love to know how his enamored and drunk mind worked at that moment. “Are you saying you’re untrustworthy?”

“I’m exclusively referring to Doflamingo.”

Shanks laughs. “Heard he’s in jail.”

“Mhm. Your boy did it again.”

Shanks grins, beaming with what can only be described as parental pride. He’s laying down on his pillow, looking at him with dazed eyes. He’s seconds away from falling asleep. 

Mihawk moves to stand up but Shanks reaches out to him, holding him down. “You can at least spend the night with me.”

“I told you, I have to keep on moving.”

“Come on!” Shanks cries. He pulls Mihawk back, dragging him until he’s lying beside him once more. His smile widens the more Mihawk’s scowl deepens. “A few hours won’t make a difference!”

“On the contrary-”

“Come on, Hawkeyes!” Shanks insists. He’s loud, louder than what Mihawk is willing to withstand at this hour, especially after sex. “Just one night before you disappear into the dark night, letting the mist of the wine-colored sea swallow you!”

Mihawk relaxes, even manages to smile ever so faintly. “You’ve been reading the books I suggested, it seems.”

“Please. You know I’m illiterate.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you want, you can hmu on twitter @_mollydewinter_


End file.
